


Miss Ives

by Cantatrice18



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Drabble Collection, Episode Related, Gen, Internal, Memories, POV Third Person, Past F/F Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3148610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight drabbles, one for each episode, offering glimpses into the thoughts and memories of Vanessa Ives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ave Maria

There were other prayers she could have used, ones more suited to her specific needs, but the Ave Maria was the first prayer her father taught her, long before her first catechism. The repetition brought her some measure of comfort, the words flowing clearly and evenly from her tongue even as the horror within her yearned to break free. She did not know what the Holy Mother could do to save her tortured soul, but she was desperate enough to try, day after day, at all hours of the day and night. She could not bear to think that her transgressions were so great as to prohibit divine forgiveness. If she allowed herself to be swayed by such thoughts, to give in to them, then there was nothing left for her but to surrender to the demon inside her and be swallowed up whole by its voracious evil.


	2. "Unbutton the top of your dress"

She heard him give voice to the order, knew it should upset her, but with her thoughts on her daily letter to the absent Mina she did not even have the presence of mind to take offense until he had already left the room. Still, it wasn’t as though the order was surprising. Sir Malcolm considered her little more than a whore. She was lucky he hadn’t just undone her dress himself, but then, he’d never touch her if he could help it. She was dirty, contaminated, too offensive for even his bloodstained hands. Yet as a lure, she could still be of some use. And after all, hadn’t she been viewed many times over by strangers, always in a humiliating state of undress? The asylum had taught her that modesty was a luxury women like her could not afford. A mere flash of skin at the throat wasn’t worthy of complaint.


	3. Vulnerable

The first time she'd had a fit in front of Sir Malcolm it had not lasted long. One moment they were arguing, the next she had collapsed to the floor. She could barely remember the cause of the argument – something to do with Peter and Africa. When she woke, it was to Malcolm standing over her, his face an emotionless mask. Yet his own stillness betrayed the fact that he was on edge. She knew from long experience that screams and strange utterances frequently accompanied her moments of lost consciousness. She asked him what she’d said but he refused to answer. Though she felt too weak to stand on her own, he would not aid her, instead calling for Sembene. The manservant helped her to her feet and supported her up the stairs to her room. As they left she could feel Sir Malcolm’s eyes upon her, watching her every move.


	4. Torture

Fenton’s interrogation was difficult for her to bear, though she tried her best not to show it. Demon’s thrall he might be, but he was still in many ways a human. Perhaps in more ways than she was herself. The beatings were hard to watch, but what nauseated her were the needles, the transfusions, the experimentation element that Victor took such an interest in. She hated needles. For her the sight of a syringe meant an unwilling descent into unconsciousness or an unspeakable new torment as some infernal mixture made its way directly into her veins. She knew what Fenton must be feeling as the transfusions took hold, the conflict within him as his humanity rose once more to the surface, and the idea of being responsible for such psychological torture made her question the wisdom of their course. Only the thought of Mina sustained her: some people were worth committing any amount of villainy to save.


	5. Stolen Treasures

She still had the comb, as well as several other trinkets, locked away in a box at the bottom of her trunk. The little things she’d stolen as a child brought back memories: the rush of fear and pleasure when she successfully pilfered some knick-knack or another from the Murrays or her own mother. She hadn’t looked at them in years, but she noticed the box from time to time. They were not the only things she’d stolen, just the tangible ones. At night, when the household was all asleep, she and Mina would steal other things from one another: kisses, touches, warmth from each other’s bodies. Just like the stolen objects, she'd known what she was doing was wrong. And just like the objects, she couldn’t bring herself to care.


	6. Home

Vanessa could always find her way back home to Sir Malcolm’s townhouse, even when the demon rose within her. It was like a beacon in her mind; nothing else existed. It was her haven, a place where she could collapse and not risk public humiliation. She did not care if Sir Malcolm saw her madness. After all, it was often he who brought it on, in one way or another. She held out hope as she staggered through the maze of streets that if she could only make it to her room everything would be alright. She did not dare to hope that she would find help or comfort at the house. But she trusted Malcolm not to send her back to the asylum. He needed her too much for that.


	7. Long Hair

It took over a year for her hair to grow back to a proper length after the asylum. She never cut it, allowing it to tumble down to her waist in a series of ebony curls. It was a symbol of health and reason, of her status as a woman not a creature. Now, with her grip on sanity so tenuous, she could not help fearing for it. When Victor came to examine her she brushed her hair obsessively, desperate to salvage her appearance. Were she to be shaved again, the evidence of the injury to her skull would be freely visible, and she could not bear the others to know what had been done to her. She clung to the belief that if she could just appear normal, everything would be alright. So long as she was beautiful, she was safe.


	8. Father/Daughter

It came as a complete surprise to her, after all Sir Malcolm’s vitriolic threats. He’d insisted on a daily basis that she was nothing but a tool for him to use, and that he looked forward to the day when he could discard her, never to see or hear from her again. He’d fantasized aloud about murdering her, shooting her through the heart like a wild African beast. The idea that he could ever come to think of her as a daughter was laughable. And yet he’d claimed her as his child before witnesses, to none other than Mina, the young woman whom he had worked so hard to find. It did not make sense, not in the slightest, yet she was oddly grateful for it. Even if he didn’t believe what he’d said, the mere fact that he’d spoken the words made such a difference. It was like a distant beacon, a faint glimmer of hope that one day she might find some measure of forgiveness in his eyes. Not now, not even soon, but someday.


End file.
